In Grains of Sand
by JadeSullivan
Summary: In the summer of 1972, one wrongly-delivered letter and a single misadventure reveal to James, Sirius, and Remus what it means to be undesired. Two of them already knew; the other wishes they never had to know.
1. Part I: From Hogwarts to Home

**In Grains of Sand**

**Summary**: In the summer of 1972, one wrongly-delivered letter and a single misadventure reveal to James, Sirius, and Remus what it means to be undesired. Two of them already knew; the other wishes they never had to know.

**Disclaimer**: All recongizable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Story Notes**: This story takes place during the summer after James Potter's first year at Hogwarts. This story is meant to coincide with the _Starting from Scratch_ Universe, more specifically with Chapter Five of the sequel, but this could also be read as a stand-alone story. No pairings (aside from a little hint of James/Lily—they're only twelve, folks).

* * *

><p><em>Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.<em>_  
><em>_I want to fill it with color and ducks,__  
><em>_The zoo of the new…_

_…Pool in which images__  
><em>_Should be grand and classical_

_Not this troublous__  
><em>_Wringing of hands, this dark__  
><em>_Ceiling without a star._

~Sylvia Plath~

* * *

><p><strong>Part I: From Hogwarts to Home<strong>

_**Remus**_

"Pass the salt, would you?"

Sirius grinned around a roasted potato in his mouth.

Remus glanced over at the staff table, pushed back his fringe, and settled his gaze on James. He'd recognized that gleam in James' eyes right away, even from behind his glasses.

Peter held up a finger as he wiped away a milk moustache with the napkin on his lap.

James poked at his meat with his fork and, heaving a sigh, stuck his elbow into the set of ribs to his left. "Come on, then, mate, I haven't asked you to finish my homework…"

Reaching for the glass salt shaker, Peter gulped his tumbler of milk at the same time, giving himself a newly formed moustache. "Here, take it," he said to James after a noisy swallow. "Could've reached right over me."

"Could have shoved your mug right in your gravy, as well, but I have manners, haven't I?"

"The best," Sirius agreed, flashing his best mate a potato-less grin this time, "except for Pete's napkin-folding." He nodded at the boy who sat a head shorter than James and gave a short whistle. "Your mum would be proud."

"Sod off…" Spoken through a familiar combination of steak and bitterness.

"Oy," James admonished in mock-seriousness, deepening his voice, "his mum would _not_ be proud. She'd—"

"Buzz off, would you?" Remus didn't quite allow himself to laugh, and that was enough to rein the other two in.

James stretched his arm across the table, offering the shaker to Remus. "Your turn, then?"

"Not either," Remus disagreed, pushing away James' fist. "McGonagall can see us, you know. She's not blind."

"Can you imagine the possibilities if she were?"

"Here," Sirius said, offering his own palm, "I'll do it."

"We have our last exam in twenty minutes," Remus countered, pushing away the plate he'd barely touched and reaching for his Potions text; he found the page he'd marked last night, pressing his fist into his forehead as he read. "There isn't time."

James sighed, meaning to be heard. He tapped the salt shaker on the table. "Going to just let him get away with calling you that, then?"

Remus shrugged, and without looking up, he reminded them, "I _am_ scrawny."

"So what? Rosier is a grotty wanker. He hasn't the bollocks to even pretend to take the mickey out of anyone. He's almost a bigger git than Snape."

Remus glanced up, mindful of the edge in his mate's tone. When Sirius got going, he was a bit difficult to cool down.

James, however, tickled at the string of blasphemy that had shot out of Sirius' mouth (and Sirius was the most talented of all of them in the name-calling department when he deemed it warranted), was flushed and grinning, clearly appreciative of this new and unique barrage of insults.

"Quite right," James followed up, still pink-cheeked. "He deserves any stick we give him."

"But—"

"I've just decided," James stood, cutting Remus short. He'd already slipped the salt in the pocket of his school robes and was loosening the top with his fingers. "Look busy."

Peter's cheeks were puffed out with mashed turnips. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and nodded.

"McGonagall's been watching everyone like a hawk since exams began," Remus commented, pretending to study. "She's in a foul mood; you'll never make it."

"Old McGonagall's on the other side of the room, isn't she? She can't even see me. Have faith, mate," James said cheerfully. He took the shaker from his pocket, along with his wand, and shoved both hands under the table. "_Windgardium Leviosa_," he whispered.

Sirius, after his tirade, appeared rather subdued. "No appetite?"

Remus looked up again to see Sirius using his thumb to nudge Remus' abandoned plate, eyeing the steak with pinched eyebrows. "Not particularly," Remus answered, feeling much less plagued with concern, since the next full moon was nearly a week away, and he'd be spending this one in the comfort of his home.

Sirius nodded. There was nothing else to say about it, really. "Oy, there it goes—no, don't watch it."

The pages of Remus' book flopped closed over his fingers, but he wasn't reading anymore. He sat very still, his ears perked up for Sirius' report.

"It's under the Ravenclaws' table—almost there."

Remus' hands prickled with sweat, his fingers sticking to the pages of his Potions text.

"It's—I can't see it—it's…oh, no."

"Other way, other way," James muttered, his eyes widening to the circumference of the rims of his glasses.

"What happened?" Remus spoke to his book.

"Someone knocked it. He's lost control."

"_Bloody_—"

The salt shaker bumped into the forehead of Professor Slughorn and promptly snowed its contents onto his steak and potatoes. Slughorn scraped his chair back in surprise and rubbed at the painful spot.

A stillness fell over the staff table, as well as over the closest students who had witnessed the quiet atrocity. The silence rippled backward. No one blinked.

"Put your wand away!" Sirius whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"I can't move; he'll see me!"

Remus' eyes crossed as he stared at his book, his face burning.

Eyes flicking from his plate to each of the three of them, a slow flush crawled up James' neck. He was holding his breath.

Picking his napkin off of his lap, Peter wiped a bit of pudding from his cheek, blinking owlishly.

James being James—always finding the slightest twitch amusing among an embarrassed silence-clearly found Peter's napkin wielding a bit too much, for his cheeks suddenly expelled the breath he was holding, spraying out in the form of a single, lip-bubbling laugh that echoed through the Great Hall.

Every eye fell on James like a magnet.

Remus saw Sirius duck his head into his shoulders as the familiar sound of heels clicking on the stone floor marched their way, followed by the crisp _clank_ of a thin piece of wood rolling from bench underneath James' bum to the floor as Professor McGonagall lifted him to his feet by a tight grip on his upper arm.

So that's where he'd hidden it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>James<strong>_

It always managed to rain on the days that were meant to be brilliant.

Take, for instance, James' tenth birthday two years ago in March. His parents had given him a birthday tea in the theme of Puddlemere United: his very favorite Quidditch team. But when it came time to actually play the game, it thundered and poured, covering the courtyard with fat, muddy raindrops.

Even with the rainstorm, today would have been brilliant as well, seeing as it was the first day of summer hols. Not only that, though—Sirius had managed to snag an empty compartment on the train for the four of them, and they had all pooled their sickles together to buy lapfuls of sweets, which Peter and Sirius were eating through with relish. Remus was starting to look a bit gray and droopy, so he had pocketed the rest of his Chocolate Frogs after nibbling his way through half of one. No one bothered him about it.

James found himself picking at the wrapper of his Pumpkin Pasty.

"Can't be that bad, can it?" Sirius prodded before using his teeth to help him tear into another Cauldron Cake. "It was the last day of the term—you don't know for certain if she sent your mum and dad a letter. She didn't give you a detention. McGonagall might have a sense of humor after all."

James tried to smile, but every time Sirius mentioned Professor McGonagall, his stomach felt a bit worse. He only hoped his face wasn't as green as he supposed it wanted to be.

"Even Remus has eaten more than you," Peter pointed out unnecessarily.

Giving their friend an exhausted grimace, and having successfully removed his sweet from its pouch, Sirius stuffed the entire cake in Peter's mouth.

Peter's protest was muffled as he coughed bits of pound cake and icing onto the floor.

Even Remus smiled before turning sideways on the bench, where he was sitting next to James; he leaned his head back on the sweaty-looking window. "Could have been worse," Remus admitted as he pushed his fringe out of his eyes and closed them. "It's not as though you ran starkers through the classrooms turning over desks."

"On the agenda for next year," Sirius said through a laugh. "Good idea, mate." And then turning to his seatmate, who was still coughing, advised, "Breathe, Pete." He clapped him twice on the back. "Anyway, if your dad chews your ear off for it, I'll tell him I helped."

Even though he appreciated the gesture, James knew it wouldn't make a bit of difference to his dad. Never had with any of this other mates. He didn't tell this to Sirius, of course. Just like he didn't tell Sirius—or Remus and Pete for that matter—that although McGonagall hadn't given him a detention for belting old Slughorn in the head with a canister of salt, she _had_ set out the key where James and the other first years—having been warned by the Prefects—knew she kept a plimsole in a dusty cupboard.

_Of course I'm the first one privileged enough to get a look-see at that manky old key on the last day of term,_ James mocked his Head of House in his thoughts. _Yes, I _should_ be terribly ashamed, shouldn't I?_

How flattering of her.

Clearly, McGonagall hadn't yet learned that fair warnings and keys to cupboards don't smart in the least. No—without a detention, there wasn't any letter.

James' felt his spirits pluck up a bit. "When is your lot going to the seaside?"

It seemed to take Sirius a minute to realize two things: firstly, that James had changed the subject without his expecting it, and secondly, that James was, indeed, talking to him. When he did, however, his eyebrows jumped toward the ceiling. "My mother hates the seaside," Sirius said with a shrug. "She hates the way it smells."

"You said you went last year," James countered, frowning. His family went _every_ summer, rain or shine. And if his mother hated the smell of the fish and the salt water, she didn't care to tell the rest of them.

"Well, yeah," Sirius agreed, leaning over to tie his shoe. Once he'd tightened the knot, he flipped his hair back, an odd sort of grin—Sirius' grin—cracking his face. "I doubt my parents will make that mistake twice."

James wished his hair flipped like that, or did anything but kick up at the back and tickle his neck.

"Besides," Sirius continued, grinning more broadly as he remembered something, "Regulus sat on a jelly fish and it stung him right up the—"

"Ha!" Peter barked out, bouncing off of his seat. "You're joking."

"Completely true. I dare you to ask him about it when we see him."

James had only seen Sirius' ten-year-old brother once in September when he had tagged along with Mrs. Black to drop Sirius off at the platform. Seemed like a sulky git then; James couldn't imagine the little bugger after kissing a jellyfish hello with his arse.

All of a sudden, Sirius held up a hand in front of Pete's face and pointed to Remus. Pete swallowed his laugh and settled back onto the cushion, sitting on his hands.

James glanced to his left: Remus' chin was on his chest and his shoulders were rising and falling with deep, slow breaths. His legs were limp and crooked like doll's limbs. He was fast asleep.

James' eyes met Sirius' and then Pete's in the middle of the compartment, but none of them said anything. One-by-one, they leaned back into their seats.

James looked out the window and watched the grass blur by. It had stopped raining.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sirius<strong>_

Please, not like Christmas. Anything but Christmas.

The words replayed in Sirius' head like the chorus of a song that had stuck in his ears—and wouldn't leave no matter the amount of alternate tunes he considered. He dragged his trunk off of the train steps, letting it _bump-bump_ behind him.

James had gone out first and was pushing his cart in front of him; Remus, having been jolted awake by screaming wheels, trailed behind the two of them, his face squinted in sleepiness and confusion.

Peter was…somewhere.

A prefect heaved Sirius' trunk onto a cart as soon as it hit the platform. Sirius waited for Remus to pass him and then reached down to help his mate lift his trunk off of the stairs.

They both waited for Pete, who emerged a few minutes later, red-faced and straining as he dragged his trunk with both hands.

"Jiffy up, then, toe rag," one of the smallest Slytherins in their year complained from behind, sour from being plugged up in the traffic, but also ruddy-cheeked and ruffled from having to drag his own heavy trunk.

_Oh, piss off,_ Sirius grumbled to himself, the sight of the prefect badge curbing his tongue just in time, even though it was the hols; he side-stepped Remus and jerked the trunk off of the stairs so swiftly it nearly sent Pete stumbling.

Trunks on carts now, they caught up with James, who must have stopped at some point, looking very much like a mother duck that had lost her ducklings. And if James hadn't been so tetchy all morning, Sirius would have told him so. Didn't feel much like an arm-slugging war at the moment, though.

Pete branched off as soon as he saw his father, walking backwards and waving his arm in the air.

"See you, Pete," James called, leaning back on his cart and waving, though not half as enthusiastically. He pointed into the crowd. "There's your brother," he reported, craning his neck.

Sirius did as well.

"Oh, hang on." James pushed his glasses closer to his eyes. "Never mind. No jellyfish attached. My mistake."

Sirius supposed he was expected to laugh; James didn't notice either way.

The cart next to Sirius began squeaking again. He watched as Remus pushed his cart forward a few steps before abandoning it, letting it bump into a pole while he latched onto a green jumper instead.

Remus' dad had the same hair as Remus, dark-blond and parted to the side. He groaned happily as he lifted Remus by the armpits and let his son hang around his neck; Remus' feet dangled by his dad's shins.

"A head taller, old man—at least."

"Doubt it," Remus mumbled into his dad's neck.

Squeezing her husband's shoulder, Mrs. Lupin moved in to stroke Remus' hair over and over; she kissed his temple for a long time.

Sirius watched even after Remus was set on his feet again. But it wasn't Remus Sirius was watching—it was his mum. She hadn't said a word, only petting Remus' hair as she held his head to her chest, looking hard at her husband.

Mr. Lupin nodded. "Did you say tara to your friends, son?"

"Mmm," Remus shook his head. His eyes were still hooded with sleep, but he looked happy. He turned away from his mother. "This is Sirius Black, and this is James Potter."

"Ah." Mr. Lupin lifted his chin as he extended his hand to the both of them. "To put faces with names—very nice to meet you."

Faces with names.

James glanced at Sirius out of the corner of his eye; Sirius knew exactly what he was thinking: an informative letter from Remus, or an informative letter from McGonagall of a different sort? Remus had only got one of those penned home, unlike Sirius' three and James' four. According to James, who had received three returning letters and one memorable visit from his father, McGonagall did them the honor of mentioning the names of all conspirators in question.

Mr. Lupin put his arm around Remus' shoulders. "Have a lovely summer, boys."

"Write loads," James reminded Remus with a grin.

"So long, mate," Sirius added.

Remus gave a half-wave. His dad kept Remus tucked under his arm and pushed the cart with the other.

"Oy, that's them."

"Hm?" Sirius turned, his brain coming back into focus. But James was already dodging around trunks, shoulders, and one rather wide-brimmed hat with a bird on top.

He stopped so suddenly that Sirius smacked into the back of him.

"Bloody—"

"Look," James spoke over his shoulder, "look at his face—does he know?"

"He's your dad, you wank, how would I know if he knows?" Sirius almost laughed. "Think back to that last letter; does he look like he did then?"

James' ears turned red just like Sirius knew they would as he jutted his elbow behind him. "Who's the wank?"

An expert now at dodging James' elbows, Sirius grinned. "Who got walloped?"

"You know I didn't!"

James had, actually. But Sirius left it alone.

"Look." Sirius pointed over James' shoulder, urging, "Your mum's waving," before giving James a friendly nudge. "I'm completely joking, my man. Your dad looks over the moon."

And he did. Mr. Potter was standing with his hands on his hips, frowning a bit with his eyebrows but smiling hugely as he waited for James to cross over to him. He leaned over to say something to his wife, who was still waving and darting her head from side to side to get James' attention; Mr. Potter chuckled in her ear. And then he whistled to James—just a soft one—through his teeth, mimicking his wife's wave.

James and his dad met in the middle. Unlike Remus' dad, Mr. Potter crouched down to James' height and smothered him in a hug that James sort of just fell into. Sirius noticed that Mr. Potter's hair was sprinkled with much more gray than his own father's, who kept his very black, very wavy, and very slicked.

Still no black-haired Blacks in the crowd of grown-ups, Sirius couldn't help but notice.

"Can't hide from your old father, can you?" Mr. Potter teased, hugging James more tightly. "Never," he answered for him." He kissed James' head, thought for a second, and kissed him again. And then, to Sirius' amusement, Mr. Potter worked on smoothing down the hair that always stuck up like grass on his mate's head. "We missed you, Jamie."

When James stood back, his eyes were wide and his cheeks were pink, and he resumed combing back the hair his father had finally left alone. He glanced at Sirius and rolled his eyes as if to say _yes, these actually do belong to me._

"Hi, Mum…"

"_Hi, Mum_," James mother mocked lovingly. Reaching out, she took his face in her hands. "You get into these arms, young man." She held him for a moment. "Hello, love."

Sirius snapped his head in surprise toward that hand that had just patted his shoulder. Mr. Potter was gazing down at him, still showing his teeth and looking very pleased with the world. "How are you, Sirius? Exams easy enough?"

"Yes, sir," Sirius agreed, pushing his hands into the pockets on his seat. "Very easy—we barely had to study."

Mr. Potter raised both eyebrows.

Pulling away from his mum, James gave Sirius a look.

Sirius shrugged. It was the truth, after all. All you had to do was listen in class, practice a bit, and take the exams without falling asleep. On a good week, James conquered at least one out of the three, and he was still tops in everything.

James talked for a while longer about class and Quidditch and who had won the House Cup—Ravenclaw—and once they had been standing around for a good few moments, Sirius couldn't help but notice the dwindling number of heads in the crowd. Mr. Potter noticed as well.

"Shall we search around a bit, or are you to meet your parents elsewhere?" His hand had found Sirius' shoulder again.

"Dunno," Sirius said quietly, still swiveling this way and that. "This is where I was dropped off." His parents hadn't come through the Floo to collect him for Christmas the way James' father had, nor insisted on meeting any of Sirius' friends—also as James' father had. "I can wait here; someone will come."

"We'll wait with you," Mr. Potter insisted. "Dinner is the only event on the itinerary, and it can always be reheated."

"Especially if I've creamed spinach on my plate," James said sweetly, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out where his mother couldn't see.

"You see?" Mr. Potter followed up, playing along. "He agrees."

Whatever was said after that, Sirius didn't hear it, as he could only gape at the gray-skinned bundle of rags shuffling toward him, its ears flopping over its sallow cheeks, its watery eyes glaring.

Creamed spinach: the consistency of Sirius' stomach lining. Quite accurate, that.

"Kreacher has come to collect Young Master." The Black family house elf. He was as growling and unpleasant in public as he was in the privacy of their home.

Sirius knew his face was turning red. The Potters were all gawking down at Kreacher's bald, spotty head with their eyebrows twisted up in different shapes.

"Where—where's Mum?" Sirius managed to choke out, trying to keep his feet from shifting. "Is she coming?"

"Young Master is to be obeying Kreacher without fuss, my mistress says."

Sirius certainly hadn't missed hearing _that_ every day of his life, just as Kreacher probably hadn't missed Sirius' habit of stepping around him, feigning deafness.

"Kreacher?" Mr. Potter glanced up at Sirius for confirmation. Sirius nodded, his cheeks flaming now. He couldn't look at James. "Kreacher," Mr. Potter addressed the elf again, "is Sirius to meet his parents at home?"

Laying eyes on James' father for only an instant, Kreacher's gaze then fell on Sirius. "Master and Mistress has gone to Bulgaria with Master Regulus."

"For the night?"

"A fortnight, sir."

Sirius' throat felt dry as Kreacher's eyes continued to crawl over his face.

"Sirius has been left home alone, then?" Mr. Potter continued the interrogation, his voice growing quieter each time he asked a question.

"Kreacher is to be feeding Young Master his meals and to be drawing his bath."

"You're not touching my bath," Sirius croaked, wishing more than anything that the Potters weren't surrounding him at the moment.

Ignoring this, Kreacher wrapped his long fingers around Sirius' wrist, his rags falling away to bare a spindly shoulder. "You is to go with Kreacher, sir."

"Get off me."

The fingers pinched. Sirius' eyes widened at the unexpected pressure that continued to tighten. Was almost painful. A new pressure, however, released the first one, as Sirius felt himself pulled back a few steps by the grip on his arm.

"Kreacher," Mr. Potter spoke again, "Sirius is twelve years old—a bit young to be staying on his own for the amount of time you spoke of. Are you certain Mr. and Mrs. Black intended you to be his caretaker?" And then, without waiting for an answer, he turned to Sirius. "Have you any relatives?"

"They won't be there," Sirius mumbled, hugging his elbows and stealing quick glances at James, who appeared torn between wrinkling his nose at Kreacher and frowning in that concerned way he reserved for Peter's Potions essays… Remus' ill weeks…Sirius' bad moods… the occasional, odd-looking vegetable on his dinner plate…

"Come home with me, then."

They all looked over at James—even the elf.

"Well, he should, shouldn't he?" James conceded; he lowered his voice, wrinkling his nose all the way this time. "Going to make him live with _that_, are you?"

"James," Mr. Potter said quietly. "A bit of tact, please."

If possible, Sirius felt his face turn even redder, though he wasn't certain of the reason. It was as though every pair of eyes on the platform were on him, while he stood there in, well, his pants with a decaying drip of a house elf by his side.

Perhaps not so nightmarish. Still.

"Come on, Dad," James implored his father, managing to ignore his request at the same time. "Send Sirius' parents a letter, telling them he's lodged up at our house—they won't mind—they won't mind, Sirius, will they?"

Somehow, even James must have sensed how Christmas had gone. Sirius found it hard to swallow. "Not likely."

James grinned.

His father didn't.

James' mother took it step further and frowned.

Kreacher picked sulkily at a thread hanging by his knees.

"See, then?" James piped up, giving his dad a one-armed shrug. "All settled."

Mr. Potter reached out and laid his hand on James' head, guiding him a short ways around his mother and depositing him right next to Sirius. "And the proper way to go about this…?"

James tilted his head back, giving his father an upside-down grin. "May Sirius lodge with us, please? And thank you very kindly."

"Would you like to come home with us, Sirius?" Mr. Potter asked.

"Surely, your parents wouldn't mind?" Mrs. Potter added softly. "We would love to have you, dear."

"They don't mind much."

They didn't—not anymore. Perhaps there was no seaside in Bulgaria. Perhaps that was it.

Sirius' stomach felt scalded.

Mr. Potter turned to the house elf. "Thank you, Kreacher. Mrs. Potter and I shall inform Sirius' parents that we've borrowed their son for a time. He is in good hands."

Kreacher exited the way he came: grumbling. Glaring. The air crackled as he Apparated back to London.

"Give us a hand, yeah?" James called out from where their carts stood diagonal to each other. He was already trying to heave Sirius' trunk on top of his own.

But before Sirius could take a step, Mr. Potter had already removed his wand, shrinking both trunks, matchbox-sized. "Caught you," he said jovially as he stooped to put the miniature trunks into the pockets at his hips. "Home it is, then. Creamed spinach, you've requested, is it, Jamie?"

"I—"

But whatever words James had spewed to accompany the horrified shape of his eyes were drowned out by the shrieking train whistle and the noisy steam that billowed over their feet as the Hogwarts Express began inching its way back to the castle.

Mr. Potter kept a hand on his and James' backs as they left Platform 9 ¾. Aside from an attendant here or there, they were the only four heads left in the crowd.

* * *

><p><em><strong>James<strong>_

"It's rubbish."

Sirius glanced over from his side of the room, where he was lying flat on his back with his bare feet stuck to the headboard. James' dad had transfigured his desk chair into a second bed for Sirius, identical to the one James had been sleeping in for years.

_Better pillows, though_, James considered. His head had flattened his a long time ago; he could stack three pillows to the width Sirius' one. But he liked them that way.

"Maybe it's ignoring you," Sirius decided, resting his heels on the slopes of his headboard, "for smacking the hell out of it with your wand. I would."

"Well," James began as he held the round mirror over his head, closer to the lamplight, "it's being difficult." He shook it again, his own frustrated reflection bouncing up and down, making him a bit queasy. "Shall I try flattery?"

"Try mine," Sirius suggested, flipping onto his stomach and hanging his top half over the edge of his mattress as he fished under the bed, muttering, "Or maybe I put it—no, here it is; I found it."

"Don't break yours like Pete did."

Sirius' head emerged, his hair sticking up. "We should have made him one out of aluminum foil." He pulled out his own hand-held mirror and used his legs to shimmy the rest of his body back onto the bed. He was breathing hard when he stood and wiping sweat from his hairline. He held out his mirror. "Here. Trade me yours. Shove over."

Lifting his stomach off of his bed by his elbows, James crawled closer to the edge and plopped down again, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sirius now. James' room smelled like a cloud of shampoo had invaded, now that another person with bathed hair was in it. Who knew he smelled so much like a girl at night? His mum needed to buy better soap.

"See?" James huffed, poking his wand into the middle of the mirror's face, which, strangely, had gone cloudy now. "We should just be able to say Remus' name, and he should hear us."

"See us, you mean."

"And hear," James reemphasized, watching as Sirius twirled his wand over his reflection, as though hypnotizing himself.

Sirius' reflection dissolved; the mirror went black. He glimpsed James excitedly out of the corner of his eye, and then clamped his tongue between his lips the way he did when he was concentrating. He tapped his wand on the top of the mirror—twice.

Wriggling so that he was sitting back on his heels, James held his own mirror with both hands. "Say my name first," he suggested.

Sirius did.

Slowly, the shape of Sirius' face came into focus—blinking, maybe—but otherwise featureless, as though he were squinting at James through a filthy window.

"Cor! Look at that!" James nearly shouted. "Say something."

Moving his lips closer to the mirror, Sirius spoke in a low, mystical, Seer-like voice. "James Potter will marry Eliza Stragglehorne and have four children—"

"Berk!" James cried, holding his mirror safely over his head as he drove his knee towards Sirius' stomach the instant Sirius tucked himself into a ball. Stragglehorne: that pointy-nosed, pigeon-toed Slytherin.

A wavy echo emitted from above, but James' only concern was smashing his best mate into the mattress.

Sirius' laugh vibrated through the mirror.

"And—and—" Sirius gasped for air, shaking with laughter now as James attempted to smother him. "—and he will carry her knickers in his pocket—always—"

"Shut it!"

Sirius rolled over onto his stomach, in hysterics. "—for brilliant luck!"

Kneeing Sirius in the arse wasn't nearly as satisfying, so James backed off, moving to his end of the bed as he waited for Sirius to sit up and give it another go. For Remus, this time.

"Hilarious, you are," James mumbled, scowling.

"No worries, mate," Sirius said, his mouth still twitching as he attempted to smooth damp hair out of his face. "I shan't tell Lily."

James stared at him, and then he felt his frown weakening. "Bugger off," he muttered, grinning now. It was nice to see Sirius laughing after two days of trying to cheer him up—and getting him to stop apologizing for his parents' lack of brain cells.

Scooting over so that he was next to Sirius again, James leaned his back against his headboard and drew up his knees. "Shall I try Remus?"

James had just spoken Remus' name when a cough drifted in from somewhere in the corridor; the floor creaked outside of James' bedroom door.

Sirius was the first to move: bouncing off of the mattress and landing on his feet in one smooth motion. He stuffed his mirror underneath his own bed, while James leaned over and hid its match, barely catching himself from tumbling to the floor. Sirius busied himself with pulling back his blankets.

"Never mind," James mumbled, both palms on the floor, the blood rushing to his head. "I'll just have a bit of hang while you get cozy."

Three quick knocks sounded at the door.

"Come in," James managed to call out before finally heaving himself up and collapsing back onto his pillow.

Sirius twitched his eyebrows the way he did when he'd just proved a point and stuck his feet underneath the sheets, taking James' advice of getting cozy quite seriously.

His dad's foot greeted them before his head did, nudging open the door as he carried in two full glasses of water. The spectacles on his nose flashed in the lamplight. "Under the covers," he observed, trading glances between the beds, "heads on the pillows… What _have _I just walked into? I believe I may be in the wrong room."

James leaned up on his elbows, accepting his share of the water. "The plan is to steal away when you've dozed," he jibed. "So tell Mum to leave out some biscuits for when we've returned and are hunting for a bite."

"Wouldn't you rather polish off the black pudding left over from dinner?" His dad handed over the second glass, muttering, "you're very welcome," in response to Sirius' thanks.

James took a gulp of water before setting his cup on the night table next to him. "Both, if you please." He moved his legs to clear a landing spot for his dad.

"You're wide awake, it seems."

"Yes," James answered truthfully, resting his head on his pillow anyway. He jerked his thumb towards his half-empty glass. "Put a sleeping potion in that, have you?"

"Ah," his dad made a grand gesture with his chin. "I _must_ learn to be quicker."

"Brighter," James added, ruining the game with his grin.

"Cheekier. Like my son." He patted James on the hip. His eyes were wrinkled, and his mouth was scrunched around a chuckle. He looked at James for a moment, the way he always did before he turned the lamp down.

Naturally, a short while later, the room dimmed.

"It's quite late."

"How late?" James wondered.

"After eleven."

"That isn't very…"

A soft chuckle.

"Did you kiss your mother good night?"

"Yes, sir."

"Turn down your lamp soon," his dad advised, patting James' hip again. "You've a full day ahead tomorrow."

"We will," James promised simply, his sense of wit drifting out of him in the same manner as his will to lie in the twitching lamplight, wide awake.

His father's kiss was a bit bristly, reminding James that he had worked from home today; he saved the smart, clean-shaven days for the office.

Despite himself, James yawned as he watched his dad float over to Sirius' bed, crouching down instead of sitting on it. Tonight would mark the third conversation between his father and his best mate that James could only half make out, like a tune on a gramophone he had once listened to from Grandmother Potter's collection. Always right quick—always the same.

Sirius lay on his side with his fist under his cheek, blinking at James' dad as though his eyes were playing tricks on him.

"…some sleep."

"…sir, I will."

"…very glad...here…"

"Thank you, sir."

"...see… the morning."

"Yes, sir."

He lifted Sirius' covers closer to his shoulder.

Sirius blinked at him.

His dad's knees cracked as he stood and stretched his back; his feet sounded loud in the dark, orangey haze of James' bedroom, which, for the next five minutes, at least, would house the noise of the lantern wick crackling and their breathing.

His dad stopped at the door. "Remember, boys, it's late."

"Yes, sir." Chirped in unison.

Even quieter: "Have a good sleep."

"Good night."

Two-for-two; a smashing recitation.

Once the door closed, James spent the next few minutes studying the tiny flame struggling for life in the glass lantern on his night table.

Sirius was still resting on his side, staring at the curtains. Thinking, James supposed. He knew—hoped—Sirius would talk soon enough.

He did.

"Yeah," James answered, popping up on his elbow. "I'm awake." He straightened the glasses still on his nose. "Let's give it a go, then."

"Tomorrow," Sirius mumbled, turning over onto his other side. "I want to be able to fly again."

"We can."

"Not if I fall asleep on my broom."

"I shall tie you to yours…and then to mine," James joked. "You'll trail me."

Sirius didn't answer.

After a minute, James reached over and turned down his lamp, extinguishing the flame to smoke.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sirius<strong>_

Breakfast at the Potters was always the same, at least as far as Sirius could tell—and this would mark his fourth breakfast at James' house, including the breakfast meal they ate for dinner on their first night home from school, by request of James, of course.

Mr. Potter sipped coffee with sugar from behind the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. Mrs. Potter barely sat long enough to finish chewing a bite of her toast, choosing instead to help Vera, the house elf, refill the pewter jugs of milk and pumpkin juice and to find another banana for James to slice into his oatmeal.

Sirius hadn't realized how long he had been watching her, neglecting his own oatmeal, until he felt James' elbow in his ribs—each nudge accompanied by a less patient plea to "hurry up." Sirius tried to hurry. The other option would require an explanation to James of how Sirius hadn't seen his own mother bustle around and top off his milk glass since he was six years old. Five, maybe. Kreacher's job, that was.

Sirius' more vivid dining memories involved his little brother Regulus making faces at him from across the dining room table in the upstairs nursery and spitting out anything green or bean-shaped into Kreacher's palms while Sirius laughed until tears came to his eyes. He'd even laughed while standing with his nose in the corner of his bedroom, much to his mother's annoyance.

Try explaining that to someone whose mother was currently doling out an extra spoonful of pumpkin marmalade atop his oatmeal.

Impossible, see?

So, Sirius tried to hurry.

"Swallow, if you please," Mr. Potter spoke from behind his newspaper. "Then ask again."

James had been asking his questions all through breakfast, and Sirius couldn't help but marvel at the way Mr. Potter only shook out his newspaper, sipped his coffee, eyeing James through freshly cleaned spectacles, and provided answers for them. All of them.

Sirius couldn't remember the last time he had seen his father drink coffee in the morning—couldn't remember the last time his father had sat at the kitchen table to eat breakfast, and Sirius had been dining out of the nursery for two years.

"Remus should have answered already, shouldn't he?" James inquired, burying his marmalade under a glob of oatmeal and sparing a smile across the dining room. "Thanks, Mum."

"Thank you," Sirius added.

Mrs. Potter beamed at them as she drifted back towards the kitchen to return the marmalade.

Mr. Potter folded down his newspaper and considered James thoughtfully. "It's only been a day and a half, Jamie," he pointed out. "Some responses take weeks to send, you know—and you said yourself your friend has been ill this past year. Perhaps he's resting in bed."

"But he—" James began, and then stopped for a moment, licking the film of oatmeal from his spoon.

It only took that one flick of a glance for Sirius to understand was thinking. The mirrors were working perfectly. Well, nearly perfectly. They knew this because even though they couldn't see Remus' face in the mirror this morning—couldn't see anything but a fog, really—they could hear voices through their own mirrors. Remus' parents' voices. Muttering voices. Worried voices. There wasn't any letter. But they had kept the mirrors a secret for over six months. Bloody shame to give it away now.

"He answered my letter right away on Boxing Day," James reported, sitting up straighter now, which told Sirius that James was telling the complete truth this time. "No one does anything but sleep and eat pudding on Boxing Day, and Remus answered my letter."

_Boxing Day_, Sirius thought disdainfully, gulping his pumpkin juice in attempts to drown the memory of his mother's fingernails in his arm and a whole day staring at the ceiling in his bedroom, while his brother visited cousins with their father.

Happy Christmas.

"Now," Mr. Potter began, laying his newspaper next to his coffee cup, "why, exactly, are we so eager to get this letter, hm? Your cousin Finn tried to get you to write back to him for a month last year. Your mother had to nearly stick you to a kitchen chair to get you to do it."

James took a breath, preparing to speak, but finding no answer, his teeth clacked together.

Sirius rolled his eyes at his bowl.

"Well…" James appeared to be mulling over his thoughts. "…Finn's not that interesting—he studies eschamology."

"Eschatology," Mr. Potter corrected. "And you actually mean entomology."

James grinned a bit. "Same thing."

"Insects and the afterlife are quite different, I must argue…"

"He severs the heads off of bugs and attaches them to spiders with a Sticking spell, and then he tries to _Rennervate_ them," James told Sirius, "and once they've snuffed it, he pins them to his wall and gapes at them through a magnifying glass like this—" Here, he mimicked a ridiculous version of someone squinting and sour-faced, holding an invisible magnifying glass a centimeter from Sirius' nose.

Pushing two fingers into James' forehead only made his mate squint harder. "Buzz off," Sirius managed through a laugh. "You smell like a banana."

"Better than smelling like bug guts," James retorted. "The girls won't go near him—imagine that, at sixteen—I'd die."

"A little kindness, James Potter," his father said, doing a poor job of disguising his chuckle in a sip of coffee. He swallowed meaningfully. "You haven't answered my question."

"Remus said he would write back right away," Sirius piped up, eyeing James over the rim of his goblet. "It's just not like him to wait; that's all."

"Ah," Mr. Potter said, "so you're concerned."

_And that, mate, is how it's done_, Sirius thought. Cutting to the chase wasn't exactly James' style.

Sirius nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Should we not be?"

Once again, all eyes were on James as he sat their blinking quite innocently. But Sirius had recognized the tiny bit of edge in James' voice, and, apparently, so did Mr. Potter. Another golden attribute of his best mate's style.

"You've every right to be concerned for Remus' well-being," Mr. Potter said rather calmly, "especially under the circumstances."

Sirius let out his breath as quietly as he could.

"I should think a week would give him time to settle and unpack—rest." Mr. Potter drained the last of his coffee. "A spot of patience."

Bit of kindness, spot of patience. Should have recommended a smattering of self-preservation. James had that look in his eye.

"Can't we just drop in for a visit?" James wondered, tilting his head for a sulk. "A tiny one?"

"We cannot."

"Ah, Dad, why not? A call, then."

"I don't fancy the idea of your head in the Floo," Mr. Potter explained as he lifted his chin to knot the tie hanging round his neck. "I may never see it again."

"You can call, can't you?"

"I've got to be at the office in half an hour, I'm afraid. Besides, I hardly know the Lupins—"

"They know you, Dad," James insisted; he was nearly bouncing off of his seat. "Who doesn't?"

"Many people, actually," Mr. Potter argued in the same calm voice as he tightened the knot in his tie. "I'm not exactly showing up in _Witch Weekly_, am I?" He winked at Sirius. "And a good job of that, eh?"

Maybe not a gossip magazine like _Witch_ _Weekly_, but Sirius had seen James' dad's name mentioned in the_ Daily Prophet_—as the appointer of Aurors in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, how could he not be?

"Let us call, Dad," James said. "Please?"

"Out of the question, son."

"Have Mum call, then."

Mr. Potter checked his pocket watch and pushed back his chair. "I'm sorry, Jamie, but you'll simply have to trust my judgment this time. I shall be late if I don't get going." He patted James on the head, ignoring the scowl was written all over his son's face.

"Sirius has used the Floo that way, haven't you?"

Sirius felt his eyes widen in surprise; he opened his mouth, his ears burning hot at the thought of explaining how he wasn't allowed to enter the parlor where the Floo was located in his home, let alone stick his head in the fireplace. But James had already twisted in his chair.

"See, then?" James continued. "We'll be very careful."

"_James_," Mr. Potter said sharply, causing both of them to jerk a bit in their seats. He had turned on his heel, looking very serious now. "Absolutely not."

The reprimand hovered over all of them, tickling Sirius' eardrums uncomfortably. He didn't know where to look. He found James' foot underneath the table and kicked it.

A rare contrite look passed over James' face as he stared into his oatmeal. And then he lifted his eyes, tilting his head again. "But why, Dad?"

Sirius closed his eyes. Bugger.

The next thing he knew, Sirius was sitting next to Mrs. Potter in the parlor off the kitchen, eyeing the quill that was drifting over the strip of parchment that hung in the air as it waited to be inked with the remainder of Mrs. Potter's grocery list. But he wasn't quite listening to her muttering—mostly to herself—about kidney beans and potatoes. His ears were straining to hear the massive telling off that was probably taking place in the dining room. James never quite knew when to quit.

Sirius listened for a long time, but all he heard was the chirping of the birds outside of the parlor window and the scratching of the grocery-list quill.

"…requests, dear?"

"Hm?" Sirius shook the cobwebs out of his brain as his eyes came to focus on the quill's feather, twitching expectantly. "Oh—sorry. No, thank you. I'm fine."

"James will be sure to add at least a dozen Pumpkin Pasties to the list before Vera delivers this to the market." A warm smile. "Had his fill on the train ride home, I'm sure—he gets _one_." The sternness didn't fit her face one bit. "Would you like one as well?"

After a moment, Sirius found it quite easy to smile back at her. She wore her hair loser than his own mother did. "I like those. Thank you."

She patted his cheek. "That's a dear."

Sirius' eyes were just beginning to grow bored of watching the quill dance across the parchment when he caught sight of James being steered into the parlor by his shoulders. By the look on Mr. Potter's face, it was clear that his earlier fear of being late had just come true. He abandoned his hold on James, who promptly stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and crossed the room to kiss his wife on the cheek.

"Be good, boys," Mr. Potter said, squeezing James' shoulder as he strolled past and lifted his umbrella from the hook.

James nodded toward the ground. "Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir," Sirius followed up. With James tracing patterns in the carpet with his toe like that, he figured a second affirmation couldn't hurt.

As soon as the flames died down in the Floo, with Mr. Potter on his way to the Ministry of Magic, James made a dash for the stairs; stopping at the landing, he gestured upwards with his eyebrows, then his head. Sirius glanced to his right—Mrs. Potter was busy adding to her list. He flicked his eyes back towards the stairs just in time to see James forcing himself to go cross-eyed and stick his tongue out, which, like many faces James made, told Sirius nothing about anything, but made him smile all the same. He pushed up out of his parlor chair and followed James to his bedroom.

"You're a right git," Sirius told James as he flopped back onto his pillows. "If you were my son, I'd throttle you. What'd you go and make him all cross for?"

Folding his stack of pillows in half and shoving them under his arms as he lay on his stomach, James sniffed. "You wouldn't either," he disagreed. "And besides, that isn't cross."

"Whatever you say, mate," Sirius said, balancing a pillow one-handed above his head. "I think you're in for it—that was definitely a fourth-letter look he gave you."

Sirius got a face-full of one of James' tatty, flat pillows before he jumped onto Sirius' feet and tried to whack Sirius with the pillow he was holding.

"Leave off, Potter." Sirius shoved James back toward the foot of his bed.

"Right," James began, once they'd settled down again. "Well, at any rate, I'm supposed to apologize to you for—" He brought his eyes up to the ceiling, remembering—quoting. "Ah, that's it," he said with a snap. "For 'lacking decorum whilst among our guest'…and being a prat." James sat back and smirked.

Sirius blinked at him. "Your dad said _that_?"

"No," James admitted. "Probably thinking it, I suppose. But about the apology, yes."

Never in Sirius' life had someone been made to apologize to him, for next to nothing, by a _parent_. Either James was taking the piss—more than possible—or Mr. Potter was unlike any grownup he'd ever met. Sirius had been made to apologize _to_ his mother before. And to Regulus. And to Kreacher, even. The bloody house elf.

Who _did_ that?

"My deepest regrets," James continued, the grin on his face sliding from amused to cheeky in a matter of seconds. "You'll forgive me, won't you?"

"I'll smother you with that pillow if you don't stop with the wanker bit."

"Oy," James frowned, feigning outrage. "Who needs to apologize now? You're worse than Peter, you are."

"Your mum's calling you…"

"Nice one."

"No," Sirius said. "Really—she is. Listen."

They listened.

Sirius was right.

Sighing, James stared at the closed door. "She'll keep; let's check on Remus again."

"You go on," Sirius suggested, leaning over and feeling around underneath his bed for his mirror. "I'll see if he answers."

"Why you?"

"You can't afford any more apologies," Sirius said earnestly. "You're rubbish at them."

"_You're _rubbish…"

Sirius dodged another flying pillow. "Go, mate; your mum is actually pleasant."

Already finding the floor with his feet, James shrugged. "Yeah. I suppose."

"She's getting us pasties."

"Oy!" James hurried now, swinging himself into the corridor by the doorframe. "And bubblegum—Droobles—I'll have her add that."

Listening to James' feet thud down the stairs, Sirius held onto his mirror with one hand and his wand with the other. This time he didn't hear anything but clicks and shuffling. The face of the mirror stayed black.

TBC…

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>**: Well, this is one of those stories that I've had in my head for months and months, and I just had to get it out before I wrote anything further on my other stories. Hope you enjoyed this one! The next part will be up soon!**


	2. Part II: From Home to Hearth

**Part II: From Home to Hearth**

_**James**_

"Ten galleons."

"No chance, mate," Sirius immediately decided; he lay on his back in the grass with his hands shielding his eyes as the sun peeked through the holes in the blanket of leaves over their heads. "It would have to be at least fifty."

"It's not as if I'm asking you to snog the Giant Squid…"

"There are loads of things I would do for ten galleons," Sirius assured him. "Just not that."

"Like pour salt on Rosier's dinner?" James recalled that incident with a mirthful sigh. Would have been a beauty to witness. Bloody Ravenclaws and their bloody elbows, knocking things about.

"Nah, he's a tosser, I'd do that for free."

"So would I," James agreed.

Sirius turned his head toward James, resting his cheek on the grass. "You did."

James sighed again. "I did." And he'd do it again. McGonagall could do with him what she liked—or pretend as though she would—but no one called names to one of his mates and got away with it.

The two of them picked at the grass for a moment in silent agreement.

Leaning up on his elbow, Sirius threw his hair out of his eyes, still squinting. "You'd snog Evans for free, though, wouldn't you? If she didn't slug you first…"

"Wouldn't give her the satisfaction."

"She almost dumped her cauldron on your head in Potions," Sirius reminded him.

Oh, yes. That.

James had claimed that seat before Severus Snape had decided to slide into it and pour his four hundred kilos of Potions shite all over the table, accidentally—or perhaps not so, if you asked James—spilling his ink on James' homework. He was a complete plonker. A slimy one, at that.

Well, he was.

And he wouldn't give Evans the satisfaction of a snog, just as he hadn't given her the satisfaction of performing a cleaning charm that he could do perfectly well himself, thank you. Never mind he had wiped out the first two sentences of his essay in the process.

"Another go?" Sirius piped up, reaching behind him to snag his broom handle. "Show me how to do the Hawkshead formation again…"

James leaned up on his elbow now, pushing away unpleasant thoughts of Slimeball Snape and the dismissing flick of his skinny fingers and dangly hair as he copied down instructions off the board for him and Lily. "Can't," he said with a shrug. "You need three people flying Chaser to actually practice it."

"We'll pretend."

"You can't pretend," James insisted. "You and I will look like the bloody Southern Ireland Synchronized Flyers. Little _girlies_," he clarified.

Sirius draped his arms over his knees and gave James a skeptical Smile. "There's no such thing."

"Is," James promised, sitting up as well. "Ask Mum."

"You could ask her to be our third…"

"You're barmy."

"Probably," Sirius shrugged as he pushed himself off of the ground, taking his Comet 180 with him. "You think Remus' parents would have got that letter your mum sent them? Gloucestershire isn't terribly far from Godric's Hollow, is it?"

"They live in Teddington— or I think that's right, anyway," James informed him, pulling his own broom up with him as he stood. "Loads of moors and all that, but Kenrick will find them right quick. He's a fair flyer." James had owned Kenrick, his great black and gray owl, since he was seven years old, and it never took him longer than a day or two to deliver letters—and come home with responses.

James inwardly sighed, disappointed in his dad's rejection of plain logic where Remus' state was concerned.

Shielding his eyes now from the sun that was baking the top of his head, James added, "Only took him a night and a morning to deliver Dad's letter to your parents in Bulgaria, remember?"

"Yeah," Sirius mumbled, suddenly interested in thumbing the edge of his broomstick.

James watched his best mate for a moment—watched his broom-flicking, really. "They'll write back," he said. Three days hadn't seemed to go by that slowly. As many days as a weekend—plus one more. "Won't they?" James asked, regretting it at once.

Sirius stopped worrying at his broom, choosing to scratch at his forehead instead. He blinked in James' direction.

"Here—" James said quickly, mounting his broom. "—you have to sit far back, almost to the ground, and you choke it right here." He grasped the very tip of his broomstick, leaving his belly almost parallel to the stick. "Yeah, that's it—that's good," he approved Sirius' stance. "We'll kick off at the same time, but don't be startled…your Comet will tip forward; gives you better speed. It'll still be wicked with two."

They practiced the Hawkshead formation three times before racing each other past the oak trees and back, nearly toppling off their brooms. James felt better.

"Look," Sirius called, shaking the hair out of his eyes and letting his feet hang loosely on either side of his broom. He pointed toward a gray blur in the sky. "Here's your owl come back."

James studied the object flapping toward them. "Don't recognize that one," he told Sirius. "It's not Kenrick."

To both of their surprise, the owl didn't zoom toward the kitchen window as owls usually did when delivering mail to his parents; instead, its feet latched onto the edge of Sirius' broom, the air from its wings dusting Sirius' fringe to the side. The small gray owl lifted one of its legs, offering a scroll to Sirius.

"See?" James said, smiling. "Told you."

The smile drooped from his face, however, as he watched Sirius' eyes go narrower and narrower, and then dark and still. The Comet 180, along with its occupant, floated slowly to the ground. Sirius read the letter again once his feet hit the ground. The broomstick dropped unhappily, wiggling in the grass. James came to rest beside Sirius propping his chin on the edge of his own broomstick as he waited.

"I don't think this was meant for me," Sirius said in a small, strange voice.

"It's got your name on the outside," James reported. "'In care of Sirius Black' it says."

"It's addressed to my parents, though," Sirius mumbled, his voice growing quieter still.

"Who is it from?" James wondered, moving closer to get a peek at the handwriting. Sirius was still reading. But then again, he wasn't.

Sirius peeked over the parchment. "Durmstrang Institute."

James took a step forward, but Sirius didn't yank the letter out of sight, so James moved even closer and glanced over Sirius' shoulder, frowning as he read. "Come off it," James muttered in disgust. "They only send letters to dodgy blokes like the Lestranges—bragged about it enough; makes you wonder why they didn't just go there."

Sirius didn't say anything.

"Can I read it?" James wondered.

The letter crinkled in the wind for a moment, and then Sirius handed it over his shoulder; squatting near the ground, he ran his knuckles over the owl's head.

James sat next to him. "'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Orion Black,'" he read aloud. "'Indeed, Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning has been noted as one of the most acclaimed and astute—" James lowered the letter. "Astute," he repeated. "What does that mean? Brilliant?"

Sirius shrugged, still petting the sharp-eyed owl until it moved away, choosing to pick under his wings with its beak instead. Sirius sat on his hands, kicking his heel into the dirt. "Who cares?"

James continued reading. "—acclaimed and astute schools of witchcraft and wizardry for over seven centuries. We thank you for your eagerness to enroll one of your own in our program of elite and unparalleled wand lore and magical training. Although Durmstrang Institute accepts few, if any, transfer students after completing three full terms of magical training elsewhere, we have been known to make exceptions.'"

Peaking up once more, James wasn't surprised to find Sirius' trainer covered in dirt and his mate staring over the owl's head.

James read on about various classes offered at Durmstrang—most of them sounding quite dull—and skimmed over at least ten lines of the Headmaster praising the school again, until James' eyes wanted to cross and he felt like crumpling the letter in his fist. "'We understand your concern'," James read aloud again. "We shall be in touch and will speak again very soon. Sincerely, Sebastian Antonovich, Headmaster.'"

James folded the letter in half and laid it on his lap, waiting. But Sirius didn't say anything. Only tried to stroke that bloody bird again. Meanwhile, James' stomach wouldn't stop churning.

"What sort of headmaster is named Sebastian?" James said with a scowl. "Sounds like a git. Here's it back."

Sirius chewed on his lip as he took the letter from James' hand and shoved it into his back pocket.

"Well…" James tried again, "you're not actually going, are you? Maybe they're talking about your brother."

Sirius looked at him.

"Right. Well, perhaps not," James said quietly, "but they won't make you go there—tell them you like Hogwarts; you're going to make the Quidditch team next year—"

"You will, you mean."

"And so will you," James assured him. He pulled up his knees, feeling more optimistic. "You're better than anyone at Keeper. And besides, you get top marks, don't you?"

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"Loads," James nearly screeched. "What else do our parents care about? Listen, if McGonagall had shot home that letter near Easter _and_ my parents thought I was getting T's in everything, then I'd really be dead, but they know I do my homework and all that rot, so things didn't turn out nearly as horrible, did they? You see?"

"No…"

"No?"

"Your dad _did_ kill you," Sirius reminded him, frowning. "He came straight from work, you said—still in his dress robes and everything."

"Oh…" James scratched at the back of his head. He'd had better Easter gifts; that was certainly true.

"Your memory is pants." Sirius threw a handful of dried grass into the air.

Ignoring the insult, James scooted forward a bit. "You could write to your parents," he suggested. "I'll help you, if you want."

Sirius shook his head. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

A sudden brilliant plan wracked James' brain, making his fingers tingle. "You could write back to Durmstrang, then—pretend to be your parents—we could look up a copying spell and match up the handwriting—"

"And if they wrote back from Bulgaria?"

"Erm," James mumbled, squinting as he thought about that. "Say Kreacher did it?"

For the first time since they'd landed on the grass, the corner of Sirius' mouth perked up with a grin. Then, just as sudden, the wind carried it away, tossing it among the willow branches—along with any further great ideas that James might have had. He sat quietly alongside Sirius for a moment, feeling a bit sad and awfully confused.

"You could ask Dad to talk to them—or Mum…"

Sirius leaned back on his palms, kicking at the dirt again. "Your dad can't fix everything, you know."

"I—I know that," James said. He pressed his lips together, surprised at the way his face felt—hot with embarrassment. He knew he should say something helpful, wanted to, really. But his throat had slammed its doors. On this subject, anyway.

James picked his broom up off the grass and stood, brushing off his seat. Sirius copied him.

"You can use my clippers to fix your broom," James said as they walked back toward the house, "since yours has that knick in it."

Sirius nodded.

And the tin of polish James had been saving since he opened that package at Christmas. That, too, would be opened.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sirius<strong>_

Over the past few years, Sirius had said loads of things that he had regretted.

No, one certainly could _not_ transfigure body parts, could they? (McGonagall had a rubbish sense of humor); and, no, his mother's evening hairstyle didn't _actually_ resemble Babbity Rabbity when she turned herself into a tree. A lie, of course, but Sirius had wanted to be let out of the attic—the Room of Disgrace—for the lavatory at some point…

He regretted telling Regulus that his two front teeth would never go back (Regulus looked horrible when he cried: snotty and bug-eyed. And after a long while of that, even cousin Bellatrix would show sympathy.)

But even that didn't compare to how rotten Sirius felt about what he had said to James.

He'd wanted to dive for those words once they'd flown out of his mouth, bat them away like a bludger. But he couldn't; those were the kind of words that trailed after you and sat on your shoulders, digging in their claws for a very long time. A whole night and a morning had passed, and there they were, hovering, even as he lounged quite comfortably on the floor with Mr. Potter next to the fireplace in his study, finishing up a game of Wizard's Chess.

If only he were better at reading James' mind. All James had been doing for the last half hour was eating butter biscuits. Not exactly a mark of devastation.

James sat back on his heels, rocking back and forth on his toes, his teeth making mincemeat out of his bottom lip as he studied the chess board. Sirius supposed that James was busy being bothered by his own set of words: helping words. Words that would probably have Sirius' Queen decapitating his dad's Bishop… if Mr. Potter hadn't threatened to cast a Silencing charm on James for the rest of the night if he didn't belt up and wait his turn to play the winner.

Sirius hadn't even seen James this quiet at the Sorting. Honestly, unlike any grown-up Sirius had ever met…

Sirius kicked his legs behind him and spread out on his stomach, making his face scrunch up in concentration like the Potter faces. Tried his best, at least. He was nearly ready to make his next move when the room filled with warm air and the white marble chess pieces glowed green, along with the rest of the study.

James was the first to greet the floating head in the fireplace. Mumble, perhaps—whatever a person could do with a mouth half-full of biscuits.

"Good evening, James," the man said as though he expected to see him. "Ah, got him caned well and surely, have you?"

"My friend does." James grinned. "I'm playing victor."

The bloke's green head bounced in the flames as he chuckled.

"Thank you all the same, young sir, but that will do," Mr. Potter murmured good naturedly to James as he rose from the rug, sparing a wink for Sirius.

Sirius found himself smiling.

Mr. Potter laid both hands on James' shoulders. "Tuck away your red cards, if you please."

"Yellow, as well?" James carried on the joke.

"Yellow, as well."

James scooted back on his bum until he hit the armchair, giving his father choice position in front of the hearth.

"I know the time," Mr. Marwick said—James Marwick, the other James had whispered in Sirius' ear, one of his dad's officials at the Ministry. "And I'm terribly sorry to call you away so late after dinner, but I'm afraid the problem in Stonehouse is all that we feared; we should convene tonight."

"What problem?" James piped up, gazing up at his dad. He was hugging his knees now, just like Sirius was.

Mr. Potter glanced over at James but didn't answer. "Let me see the boys to bed and tell Dorea I shall be home late—a quarter of an hour, tell them."

_Stonehouse_, Sirius thought, his brain conjuring up the map of English counties been made to memorize by his primary school tutor. _In_ _Gloucestershire?_

"It's nine o'clock," James muttered, his head following his dad's feet out the door, once Mr. Marwick had gone. "Not even, actually. Oy, Dad, can't we—" James turned, frowning and holding onto his sleeve where Sirius had tugged it.

"Did you hear what he said?" Sirius whispered.

"Yeah…nine o'clock," James scoffed. "Who'd he morph into just then? Filch?"

Sirius made an exasperated noise to rival his mother's. "No, not that, you great wally—_Stonehouse_."

James' frown deepened.

"Don't you know where that is?" Sirius' voice grew louder now.

"Erm," James muttered, thinking. "West. No, Southwest, is it? Probably near—"

"Not _near_!" Sirius rasped under his breath. "Bloody shaking hands with it…"

"Oh." James blinked. And then his eyes stretched wide. "Oh!"

James had it.

Teddington.

"James, you may finish out my game," Mr. Potter said when he returned to the study; he plucked his outer robes from a hook on the hall tree and shrugged into them. "And then it's to bed soon after, eh?"

James' shoulders relaxed a bit at that pronouncement. "Sure." Too quick. Entirely insincere. And Sirius was quite positive that Mr. Potter knew it as well, though he didn't say a word about it. "Are you sending any Aurors to Stonehouse?" James asked as he slid into Mr. Potter's abandoned spot of carpet. "Will _you_ be going there?"

"We shall see," Mr. Potter said, clearly used to back-to-back inquiries. He straightened his tie with one hand and reached for the pot of Floo powder with the other. "No need to wait up for me, Jamie—Sirius; I may be very late in coming home." He paused before hurtling in the grits. "And no heckling your mother about it either. A promise?" Mr. Potter held out his hand for each of them to shake his agreement; Sirius blushed when he realized he was meant to shake first. He did, of course.

"Good boy. James?"

James nudged up his glasses as he reached out and shook his dad's thumb. Then he grinned cleverly. "Mmhm. Be careful."

The Floo roared to life, making the room warm all over again. Mr. Potter stepped in, only to immediately step back out, stoop down to kiss James on the head, and then duck his head and shoulders back into the green flames.

The air cooled off, their fringe resettled onto their foreheads. James' scowled a bit, mussing up his hair where it had been kissed. He caught Sirius' eye.

At the same instant, they lurched toward the chess board, scraping it clean of all pieces, broken or otherwise, and pushed it underneath the sofa.

"Your knight needed to pummel that pawn on the left," James informed him as he crawled back to the rug, stretching both legs out in front of him once he'd settled.

"I know. I almost went for it."

"Rotten luck, old man," James said to the empty fireplace.

Sirius leaned his back against the foot of the sofa. "Why would your dad need to send people to Stonehouse?"

"They're Aurors," James said, as if Sirius should have already known. "Must be something dodgy going on in Stonehouse, isn't there?"

"I know they're Aurors, I'm not stupid, but what do you think they've gone to _do_?"

James shrugged, mostly with his chin, since his arms were locked behind him like stills. "Dunno. Bring them tea?"

Sirius didn't laugh. "Be serious."

James blinked at him. "Sorry." He folded his legs into a pretzel, playing with the toe of his sock for a moment. He glanced up, tilting his head. He looked very much like his dad at that moment. "The last time Aurors were sent up North, there was a group of dark wizards—not very many, maybe ten or twelve—they were meeting in this old cave, trying to start a rebellion…revolution…one of those, anyway. My dad didn't tell me much, just that it was nothing to worry about. That there will always be baddies somewhere, plotting to set cats on fire…or whatever they might do."

_Muggles_, Sirius thought. _Not cats_. Chills zinged up and down his arms, the way they used to when he was sitting on the pitch-dark stairs of his parents' flat in his pajamas on those nights when his aunts and uncles and cousins (thrice removed) stayed after dinner so long that Sirius was sure he'd find them still in the parlor the next morning, rather than just a ghostly smell of brandy and pipe smoke. Those were the only times that Sirius could half-remember his father carrying him up to bed. Never scolded Sirius in the morning for eavesdropping. It was almost as if he didn't mind Sirius' knowing what they talked about on those nights. He'd been very small then, younger than Regulus, even.

Sirius didn't go to the stairs anymore, and his father hardly looked him in the eye, let alone carried him.

"Maybe they're just meetings. People talk a lot of rubbish—doesn't mean they'll ever do anything horrible."

"Some have," James countered with a grimace. "Not since about a year ago, though. Remember that village that caught fire? And that Auror who died?"

"Not really…"

"Wasn't in the _Prophet_," James said. "They don't put stories like that in there. I'm not supposed to know about it, actually."

"How'd you find out?" Sirius was whispering now, even though there was no need to; the door was closed. They _both_ were whispering.

"You know that man whose head you just saw?"

"Yeah."

"He comes round here the most of any of Dad's friends. It was really late, and they thought I was asleep." James pointed toward the armchair in the corner of the room—a chair so big that the both of them could sit in it, easily. Remus as well, probably. "Don't tell him, all right?"

It took a moment for Sirius to realize that James was serious. "I'd never tell."

James gave him a half-smile. He pulled at the heels of his socks this time.

"My parents talk about stuff like that sometimes," Sirius murmured. "I don't think they care if I know." Sirius left off the part about the late-night meetings. They'd never quite bothered him until recently. His arms broke out in goosebumps again. "I'm not letting them transfer me to Durmstrang. I'll run away first."

"You can live here," James suggested. "You've got a bed now. We can be brothers."

Sirius hugged his knees, pressing his chin against them. His stomach suddenly coiled with a feeling he didn't know what to do with. He wondered what Regulus was doing in Bulgaria.

"How close is Teddington to Stonehouse?" James wondered.

"Close enough," Sirius answered. He held his forefinger and thumb less than a centimeter apart. "Looks like this on map."

"This—" James mimicked Sirius' pincer fingers. "—could be a hundred kilometers, depending on how small the map is."

"Could be five."

"Who's ever seen one that massive?"

"Professor Binns," Sirius said truthfully. The maps in History of Magic were, indeed, quite massive; covered the blackboard.

"And you've borrowed his, have you?"

"Soul mates, we are."

"Now _you_ get serious."

Crossing his ankles, Sirius sat up straighter. "All right, then, listen: if something horrible is happening in Stonehouse, what if Remus went with his mum and dad somewhere, in case it comes to Teddington? What if he forgot his mirror?"

"We heard voices."

"What if they weren't his parents'?"

James' teeth pulled at his bottom lip.

"Your mum hasn't got back a letter," Sirius reminded him; they were sitting so close, their knees were almost touching. "Floo-call your dad's office and ask him to send someone to pop by Remus' flat…"

"Can't. I'm not allowed. He might not even be there anyway."

"Ask your mum."

"We're only supposed to contact him when he's working if it's an emergency," James said, shaking his head in slight frustration. "He obviously didn't think it was earlier, did he?"

"Well, then—"

"He won't be home until midnight, probably," James declared. "And, no, I'm not asking him in the morning—you saw how well that went."

Sirius sniffed. "He was fine until you started whinging at him."

"_You_ ask him, then. Better yet, you can pop through there—" James gestured dramatically toward the fireplace. "—and _Stun_ every person that doesn't look like a Lupin. No, hang on, a hex aimed right for the bollocks. Yes. And then Dad will appoint you Auror and ask you along next time he—"

_Clap_.

James growled into the hand that was plastered over his mouth, pulling hard at Sirius' wrist.

"Shhh," Sirius shushed him. "Shut up a second."

The sound of knuckles rapping at the door quelled James' mumbles. The creaking hinges had them both turning.

"Hel-lo," James greeted slowly.

"Hello, there."

"You can come in, Mum."

"Can I, now?" Mrs. Potter smiled at the both of them. Slipping her other shoulder through the crack in the doorway, she held onto the doorknob as she considered the scene. "Have the pieces gone back repaired or will Vera be finding the queen's crown at her feet?"

"Only a pawn's head," James joked.

Mrs. Potter's eyes twinkled. "I see. Will we be heading to bed, then?"

"Will _you_?" James asked innocently enough.

"Hm," his mother narrowed one eye. "Very clever of you. And to think, I almost brought in a fresh tray of biscuits."

"If we may eat them in bed, then I'll go up after them."

Sirius nearly snorted. Amazing that anyone ever took James seriously. Mrs. Potter twitched her nose at him. "Really…" she sighed.

"We're almost finished with our meeting," James informed her. "And then we'll go up."

"Mmhm," Mrs. Potter assessed with a nod. "I'm afraid I see no record of your notes anywhere."

"They're in Sirius' brain," James said, not missing a beat. "He's the best memory."

"You're ridiculous…" Sirius kicked out with his toes; James toppled like a balancing egg.

"At last," Mrs. Potter said, her fingertips pointed toward the ceiling, "a voice of reason."

Cheek still pressed to the rug, James peeked up at his mother. "We shall be up for biscuits in an hour."

"You have ten minutes to adjourn the meeting, young man," Mrs. Potter ordered, pointing a stiffened finger toward the mad heap—that somehow was his best mate—on the floor. "You heard what Daddy said."

James face turned as crimson as the scrollwork on the carpet. He sat up, straightening his glasses. "I know it, Mum."

"_Yes_, Mum," she exaggerated, half-smiling as she pulled the door closed. "_Right away_, Mum. _Thank you for the biscuits_, Mum."

"Thanks, Mrs. Potter," Sirius called after her. At least the door heard him. He wrinkled his nose at James. "Daddy?"

"Oh, come off it," James mumbled sourly, and then pulling a rather serious face—which was difficult to accomplish with still-pink cheeks, he added, "What do you say, then?"

"What do I say about what?"

"Checking in on Remus," James said, giving his specs another casual nudge. "Mum goes to sleep five minutes after I do."

"We're not allowed to Floo-call anyone; you just said that."

"No," James agreed," but I'm allowed to use the Floo if I'm travelling."

Sirius gave him a skeptical squint. "You're allowed to use the Floo to travel but not to call someone? That's a complete lie."

James shook his head. "Isn't," he promised. "I used it when I went to Diagon Alley in August."

"Your parents were probably right behind you." Sirius kept his brow furrowed. "Like my mum was when I went…"

"When did you go?" James wondered.

"The 28th"

"So did we! I didn't see you…"

"We—" James began but then promptly bit his tongue between his lips. It was his turn to blush. "We weren't there very long." Gringotts Wizarding Bank and Knockturn Alley had taken up quite a bit of their time, as did the rather sharp—and very public—dressing-down Sirius had received after he'd got fed up of trailing his mother in the damp alleyway that smelt of rotting wood and patchouli, choosing, instead, to find his way to Quality Quidditch Supplies in the sunnier part of the street.

"Oh," James chirped, accepting this. "Anyway, he continued, "I've used the Floo to get to my aunt's house before as well."

"So?"

"So it's settled, then," James concluded. "Once Mum nods off, we'll come down here and pop through. Just a checking-up; it'll only take five minutes—"

"Like everything else, yeah?"

James brushed off the small jibe. "I'll even go through first. You can stand watch and then come in next."

"That's comforting," Sirius said dryly. "Suppose someone walks in…"

"Dad'll be at work past midnight," James reassured him, eyeing Sirius over the rims of his glasses in the beginning stages of frustration. "I already told you that. He always stays late when he sends people on a Catch."

"Your mum's jolly keen and all that, but she isn't stupid," Sirius told him. James' shoulders had slumped considerably. "Or deaf," he continued. "What if she hears us? Then what?"

"The door closes, you realize," James muttered, elbow on his knee, fist smashed into his own cheek. He looked positively bored.

"Does it lock?"

James sighed, hanging his head now. "Stop being a prat," he mumbled to his chest. "You're murdering me."

"Fancy getting nabbed? Even by your mum?"

Lifting his face, James rested his chin on his knuckles and twisted his lips to the side in thought. "Mm-mm," he admitted with a slow shake of his head, as though surprised by his own answer. "I really don't."

_Hm_, Sirius thought. _That's that, then. _

"We'll have to be very careful."

_Perhaps not_, Sirius thought, offering his best balloon sigh. When James' mind was made up, it rarely strayed elsewhere until the job was finished.

"Well. Bring your invisibility cloak, just in case."

"Brilliant," James approved.

Meeting adjourned.

Less than thirty minutes later, Sirius was gazing stiff-eyed into the heavy darkness that hung below the ceiling of James' bedroom, lit only by the occasional spark of color that James' shot idly out of his wand. Sirius' shirt and trousers felt scratchy and hot from beneath his bedclothes. Clammy socks, nervous feet. Good job it was dark; probably looked as petrified as a stiff in its coffin. Lights on, and James would never let him forget it.

The bed across the room illuminated in an orange haze; tiny sparks floated down and dissolved just before they landed on James' nose.

"Excellent," Sirius muttered into the darkness. "Set your bed on fire. She'll sleep right through that."

"It's nearly eleven," James said irritably. "She's always asleep by now."

"I don't think it's been that long, mate."

James had forgone speaking for a while in order to hear his mother's slippers on the stairs and the swish and click of her bedroom door. This, of course, had left Sirius an unusual amount of time to think, and in the case of their potential sneaking about, thinking too much wasn't always a good thing.

"It has," James mumbled through his pillow, or so it sounded.

That stint of thinking time had obviously done a number on James as well. But instead of listing the twenty-hundred reasons to justify their zipping off to a place they'd never seen—out loud—to whomever would listen (as he usually did), James must have quietly developed reasons _for_ his reasons, tied up his plan in bows and ribbons, and proceeded with his impatient blasting of bedtime fireworks while the minutes ticked away and Mrs. Potter boiled another pot of water for her tea.

Stuffing his pillow underneath his head once more, James kicked his blankets to the end of his bed and sighed. He was still wearing lace-ups on his feet.

"Or you just could lie there and show off your trousers and shoes," Sirius scoffed. "That won't give you away at all. Not as fun as causing a fire, but—"

"Belt up," James shushed him, adding, "She won't come in here unless she thinks we're awake."

"So stop talking."

"And you…"

"I will," Sirius said, "if you stop burning your bed."

An owl hooted in the tree outside of the window.

"Probably could, couldn't I…" James admitted. The owl hooted again, its wings casting jagged, bruise-like shadows on James' curtains—or perhaps those were leaves. A bit eerie, either way.

James snorted a laugh into the almost-silence, his timing off, as always. "Cause a diversion, at least."

Sirius tried to smile but only licked his lips instead. "Can you see your clock? It's getting lighter in here with the moon all full."

"Erm…" James rolled over, his mattress creaking as he felt around for his bedside clock. Sirius could just make out James holding the round thing very close to his face. "Yeah," he decided after a few seconds of squinting. "Hm. You were right. It's a quarter past ten."

"Wait until it's half past," Sirius told him, "and if she's asleep by then, we'll go down. Eleven's too late. It's not worth it after that."

"Three-quarters past."

Sirius licked his lips again; his tongue was an eraser rubbing parchment. "All right," he agreed.

But a half hour didn't pass—not even a quarter of an hour—before they heard movement on the staircase...the _swish _and _click_ they'd been waiting for.

Sirius shifted.

"Bathroom," James whispered. "She paints a mask on her face and then sleeps in it. Give it a few."

They became corpses again, holding their breaths, the air humming in the absence of rumpling bed sheets and nose sighs.

Another door opened and closed—the only door that mattered. A minute or two of silence passed, and then James' blankets flapped in the air, slipping straight to the floor.

Sirius' toes located his trainers; his fingers stumbled over the laces in the dark. Weightless tiptoes carried them down the stairs, past the foyer and through the parlor. He didn't hear James' voice again until they were safely barricaded behind the door of Mr. Potter's study.

"Here," James said, handing Sirius the jar of Floo powder while he moved the grate away from the hearth.

Sirius stood pressing a thumb into the grit. He glimpsed the doorknob at every scrape of iron on stone, shaking hair out of his eyes that wasn't there.

Mr. Potter's eyes were in every corner of the study.

Reaching back, James stuck his fingers into the jar and tossed a handful of powder into the Floo. He flinched at the flash of green flames licking towards his face. Strange, considering hardly an hour ago, James had hardly blinked at the same heat blowing his fringe into a rooster's comb. He glanced over his shoulder, chewing a lip.

"It should be your turn, you know."

"My turn," Sirius echoed; even his whisper seemed loud. "For what?"

James replaced the jar on the mantel and squatted down, wiping both palms on his knees. "I did the salt. Remember?"

"You wouldn't let me," Sirius reminded him. "I was first to volunteer. Do _you_ remember?"

"I do, actually." James glanced over. He grinned. And then, leaning forward, James squinted into the flames. "Is it impolite not to call first, do you think?"

"Dunno," Sirius said honestly; he, too, peered into the flames. "Did your aunt give you a fat lip when you came through without calling?"

"Bloody wishes, probably," James muttered, still squinting. "She says I'm _the_ _cheeky sort_." He stuck out his tongue and scrunched up his nose as if he were gagging. "She's old and horrible, and she smells like mothballs." He stood, slapping at his pockets for a final dusting. "Nah," he concluded, pushing himself up from the ground. "Let's just go."

"I'll watch out." Sirius found it much simpler to keep from worrying now that James was speaking again. And making faces.

"Oy…" James grabbed Sirius' sleeve and tugged him closer toward the spiking flames that were no more than tickling breaths on their stomachs. "Don't be stupid. I wouldn't put you through that. Peter's the look out." A steadying breath. James looked straight ahead. "All right, then. Cheers." Closing his eyes, James called for Remus' house, leaving behind the sofa, messy chess board, and the breath in Sirius' lungs.

They landed in a heap. Sirius bumped his forehead on something hard in front of him at the same time he inhaled a cloud of black dust.

"Ow, ow," James groaned, scrambling for footing and kicking pieces of coal about in the process. "I'm sitting on something."

Sirius put his hands on James' shoulders and pushed him towards the dim square of light, ducking out of the small fireplace soon after. Bits of burnt coal and charcoaled wood surrounded James' feet and littered the green and white tile on the kitchen floor.

Neither of them moved so much as a toe, at least not voluntarily. James' chest was heaving as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

Sirius noticed the table first, covered in at least two dozen vials—some half-filled with blues and greens, some empty and tipped over—and a wadded pile of damp flannels. Some sort of seeds and leaves were strewn all over the countertops; a pair of rusty sheers hung halfway in the sink.

"Shit," James breathed, regaining his breath. "Ow."

Sirius had to swallow several times before he was able to call out, "Hello?" His voice came out weak and shaky.

No one answered—not a sound in the house.

Slowly, Sirius picked himself off of the ground, pulling James with him, who reached down and rubbed at the back of his knee where he'd been poked.

"I don't think they're here," Sirius whispered, flipping his head toward the door that led to—what appeared to be—a rather normal sitting room.

James shook his head, still rubbing. "The lamps are all lit. And look." He pointed toward the shoulder bag full of books hanging on the hook next to the stove. "It's his badge."

A faded black Magpies Quidditch badge with a few strings hanging off of it was attached to the flap. Remus' school satchel.

"What is all this?" Sirius picked up a seed from the table and severed it with his fingernails.

"Maybe we're in Snape's brain."

Something wailed outside, stabbing at the silent night air—a dying rabbit, maybe; the Lupins lived next to a forest. Sirius' pulse thrummed in his throat.

"Come on. Go with me," James muttered, giving Sirius' sleeve a tug—unnecessary but expected.

Aside from a faded pink armchair the color of chewed bubble gum and a pink and green checked sofa, the sitting was empty as well.

James flicked his eyes over his shoulder. "Corridor?"

"No," Sirius murmured, his eyes scanning the narrow walkway with its few closed doors. "They're probably asleep."

James threw his arm toward one of the flickering lamps. "With those on?" Rubbing at his hair, James wrinkled his nose to shove up his glasses. His nervous face.

"What if the blokes in Stonehouse came through here, like you said," James proposed. More nose wrinkling. "We have to check, at least—"

Then suddenly, as though the ceiling were falling on his head, James' shoulders jerked as at the same moment a door slammed.

Sirius' fingers patted for the wand stuck in his waistband and then froze. He wasn't in his own home, or the Potters'. He _was_ the intruder. Sirius' neck crawled.

"What in God's name," came the voice from the kitchen. _Clanks_ and _bangs_ assaulted the countertop. A vial rolled off of the table and shattered. "Sarah? Are you here?" Remus' father called out as he shuffled toward the tiny fireplace, pressing his hand against the top of it as if he might fall over. His eyes flashed wildly as he took in the streaks of black smog and pieces of coal on the kitchen floor.

Sirius' whole body felt heavy with panic; his feet were rooted to the sitting room carpet.

"James?" Mr. Lupin's face, shiny with sweat, creased in confusion; his eyes were ringed with dark circles. A pinecone was stuck to the shoulder of his jumper. "Is that Sirius with you?"

"We soiled your floor," James said, his voice quiet and croaky.

Sirius stared at him. Of all the obvious, and moreover dumb, things to say…

"We're sorry." James winced. "We didn't mean it."

"What are you doing here?"

The question was sharper than either of them expected. Sirius didn't know what to say. Apparently, neither did James, as all he could do was point toward the Lupin's corridor and move his mouth up and down as if that explained it all.

"Did either of your parents send you?" Mr. Lupin tried again. "Do you need help—or do they? What is it? Are you in trouble?"

James' eyes were wide and lost as he glanced over at Sirius. "We—"

"Come," Mr. Lupin waved them in. "Come in here. My goodness, you two are white with fright." He wiped at the perspiration beading on his cheeks. "Right in here," he said more gently, once they'd unstuck their feet and dragged them forward. "I didn't mean to startle you. What you must think of me…" He jerked two chairs away from the table and brushed the seeds off of the white vinyl cushions. "Sit down."

The metal squeaked at Sirius as he lowered himself awkwardly into the seat. Remus' dad stooped to gather glass shards into his cupped palm, only to tut angrily at himself a second later and clear the debris with his wand—scattered coals and all.

Sirius caught James' eye, and they stared at each other; James' eyebrows were shouting _retreat_.

Mr. Lupin blew out his breath and smoothed back his sweaty hair. It took him several tries to get his wand back into its holster, and then he took a seat at the table; he folded his hands in front of him and hunched forward. "I got your mother's letter this morning, James. Is everything all right? I don't know her very well, I must admit, but it was kind of her to ask after us. My wife is away at the moment; she usually answers our letters."

_Ask after us,_ Sirius thought. _Not Remus_. James had caught it as well. This man had no idea why they were here.

"Sorry," James said, squirming a bit. He pulled at his own thumb. "We just wanted to see about Remus. We know he gets ill sometimes, and he was a bit off-color on the train. And, erm, since he hasn't answered…" James trailed off, his diplomatic backbone crumbling round the edges.

"You wrote to him?"

Sirius saw James stick his tongue in his cheek, a sure sign that the plan was going off the rails already.

"Is Remus asleep?" Sirius asked quickly. "Can we see him? I'm—we're very sorry about your kitchen," he added, noticing that Mr. Lupin had gone back to rubbing the stubble on his cheeks again, gazing at the leaves on the countertop. "Sir?"

Mr. Lupin's eyes snapped into focus. His throat rippled. "He is asleep, boys. I'm sorry." A mere whisper.

"Did he have to take loads of potions tonight?" James piped up, the confidence easing back into his shoulders. "Do they make him sleep?"

Mr. Lupin pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger and nodded. He laced his fingers together once more, clearing his throat. "It's kind of you to worry after him. You are very loyal friends." He swallowed. "I shall tell him you said hello."

The screeching returned from outside—far away, but horrid nonetheless.

"Do your parents know you're here?" Mr. Lupin eyed them both. "Either of you?"

"I'm staying with James," Sirius told him.

James absorbed the quiet stare-down for another moment, his tongue poking into his cheek again.

Mr. Lupin nodded knowingly. "I didn't suspect so," he claimed; he seemed calmer, and his forehead was no longer sweaty. "It's rather late." He pushed back from the table. "Let me expand this." He indicated the old, blackened fireplace. "I've meant to do this for a while, but we haven't many visitors. Come along."

They stood without speaking while Remus' dad stretched the hearth until it was nearly as tall as James. He _Vanished_ the bits of wood and coal for good measure.

James hugged his elbow, glimpsed the clock hanging over the stove, and this time, Sirius read his mate's mind perfectly.

"A sight better," Mr. Lupin approved his work. He poured the last handful of Floo powder from the wee cask on the mantel straight into the empty fireplace.

Even Sirius flinched this time.

"Go on, now." Mr. Lupin said, ushering them in. "Good night."

He watched them silently until the the rushing colors dragged them back to Godric's Hollow. Sirius could almost feel the pinch on his ear.

They landed on their feet this time, knocking shoulders instead of foreheads, even though their faces were mostly hidden by the chimney.

Sirius noticed the blue carpet first, the wrong carpet. And then the pair of shoes resting on that blue carpet, followed by the knees that straightened out and away from the living room chair.

James held his breath and took a step back, pressing his shoulders into the bricks as if to blend in. All Sirius could do was stare, even after the pair of hands reached into the fireplace and caught James under the armpits; the toes of his lace-ups knocked into the grate before he was lifted bodily over it.

Three small clouds of chimney soot exploded off of James' rear end in protest to the hand that delivered hard smacks to the seat of his blackened trousers, moved the smaller hand out of the way, and then swept forward with a very loud fourth smack.

A peculiar quiet fell over the living room, just long enough for Sirius' stomach to turn into melted wax and harden into a clump somewhere around his feet. And then the same hands reached in and hooked under Sirius' armpits, ducking and lifting him over all obstructions in one smooth movement. He barely had time to glimpse the bit of hair falling over Mr. Potter's glasses before he found his torso wedged against an elbow still clad in its outer dress robes, his bottom sent into shock by four smacks that not only managed to sting but also dust every speck of chimney grit from it.

He was standing next to James again, whose eyes were round and wet and angry, but it wasn't those eyes Sirius cared about; he'd never seen such frightened eyes in a grownup before, and he couldn't look away, not even when Mr. Potter's lips pressed together and trembled. The molten wax returned to Sirius' stomach, burning it.

Mr. Potter had squatted down and was gripping them by their outside shoulders as if they were one giant person instead of two, his eyes flickering back and forth between them.

James sniffed deeply.

"How _dangerous_," Mr. Potter finally said, his voice low and stern. He stared hard at James. "How—" He lowered his chin, swallowing; when his eyes came back up, they were sharper than before. "You _do not_ follow me to a meeting. You _never_ disobey your mother on a night like this." He turned to Sirius again. "This wasn't clever. Or all in good fun." James' turn. "Can you _imagine_ what I thought? What your mother thought when she found you boys missing?"

"We didn't try to follow you, Dad." James' voice was thick with the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. "I wouldn't ever do that. We didn't—" He shook his head, sniffling and trying to get himself under control.

Mr. Potter straightened, still holding onto their shoulders.

Sirius couldn't find a voice to speak.

Mrs. Potter bustled into the living room, stopping as soon as she saw the three of them crouched in a huddle. She pressed her hand to her chest and closed her eyes, her shoulders heaving with a long, long sigh.

"They're all right," Mr. Potter told her, and then reaching inside of his robes, he pulled out a thin handkerchief and wiped James' nose, for a second, anyway, until James took the cloth from him, his chin nearly touching his chest, and swiped it over his face and under his glasses. Mr. Potter laid his hand on James' neck, only to have it shrugged off. He let go of Sirius' shoulder and took hold of both of James', leaning down again. "None of that," he scolded quietly. "Take a minute up in your room and calm yourself before we sort this out. I love you very much, but you are most certainly in trouble," he said matter-of-factly. "And you owe your mother an apology."

James' arms hung limply as he let his mother hug his head to her chest. "Sorry," Sirius heard him whisper.

She held his face in her hands. "All right," she said gently. She nodded.

Without looking back, James plodded toward the corridor that led to the staircase.

Mr. Potter was in front of Sirius again, tipping Sirius' chin up. "You've a mighty bruise forming," he claimed, touching Sirius' hairline with his fingertips. Mrs. Potter rounded her husband and leaned down as well, peering at Sirius' bruise, her sigh tickling his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Sirius mumbled; the words hurt his throat. He tried to swallow but his throat wouldn't let him do that either.

Mr. Potter turned to his wife. "Could you get me the salve? Oh, wait, here," he recanted, patting his robes one-handed, seeing as the other was still holding Sirius' chin. "I can Summon it."

"I'll get the salve," she said, nodding. The swishing of her dressing gown was the loudest noise in the room.

"That looks awfully sore."

Sirius grasped his fringe between his fingers, pulling it forward. "I'm okay," he found himself whispering. "You don't have to use anything on it. It'll go away."

"Nonsense," Mr. Potter said, tipping up Sirius' chin once more but looking him in the eye this time. Hooking his foot around the leg of the closet arm chair, Mr. Potter dragged it closer to them and sat Sirius onto the cushion, squatting down with him. "Now, keep very still for me," Mr. Potter muttered, pushing back the fringe that Sirius had so carefully combed down. He took the tin of salve when Mrs. Potter held it over his shoulder. "Thank you, love."

"I'll be upstairs." She ran her palm over both Sirius' hair and her husband's knuckles before heading for the second floor.

"See that our captive hasn't locked himself in the wrong bedroom."

She flashed him a hint of a sad smile before climbing the stairs.

"Does your head ache?" Mr. Potter was still frowning as he dabbed over the bruise a second time.

"No, sir."

The fingers on Sirius' forehead stilled; Mr. Potter looked at him. "A promise?"

Sirius blinked at him. The air still smelt strongly of trouble, he and James had completely broken their first promise, and here Mr. Potter was, asking for a second. Sirius' blinks became flutters, and his chin threatened to wobble. His heart felt as though it had been skinned. And he couldn't look Mr. Potter in the eye for another second.

Without waiting for a nod, Mr. Potter recapped the tin of salve, pulled the coffee table closer to Sirius' arm chair, and lowered himself onto it as if it were perfectly natural to put his bum on the place where the saucer usually went. He hunched forward, ducking his chin until Sirius had no choice but to look up.

"There we are," Mr. Potter approved.

Free from the sting in his forehead and James' sniffling in his ear, Sirius' brain could only replay the last ten minutes, which, regretfully, included the look of fear that had gleamed in Mr. Potter's eyes, followed by the first smacking Sirius had ever got that made him want to sink into the floor in shame rather than retaliate with a good smack of his own.

"I know I'm not your father, Sirius," Mr. Potter began, "but when I came in to say a proper goodnight and found pillows instead of boys under the covers, I'm not sure even two men could have handled the fright I felt. I thought—well, it isn't important what I thought, because I do believe James; he knows better than to follow me. What's important is that you are safe—a smudge of bruising is the worst of it, it seems. But do you know what else is important?"

As much as he fought it, Sirius felt his eyes fill up. He couldn't even nod, couldn't do anything but sit there and let his chin tuck in and wobble.

"It is important," Mr. Potter continued, curling his fingers around Sirius' forearms, "that you realize when silliness could become dangerous, rather than a spot of fun."

Sirius rubbed a wrist under his nose.

"Don't ever use the Floo network unless you're supervised, even if you're told otherwise." Mr. Potter's voice grew firmer. "And even if you're given permission at home—" Here, Sirius shook his head. "—Well. I have seen injuries in my time from misuse. You _must_ be careful. Can you promise me that?"

There he went again. It was enough to send the first two tears racing down Sirius' cheeks to _plink_ on his trousers. He sniffed spasmodically, even as Mr. Potter caught the new tears on Sirius' chin with a clean handkerchief and pinched the wetness out of his nose.

"I'm afraid my son needs reminding of this," Mr. Potter said gently, still swabbing. "A bit of humility, perhaps."

"Kreacher doesn't open letters without my parents' say-so," Sirius mumbled thickly, figuring the least he could do was spare Mr. Potter from saying what Sirius knew they were both thinking. "I don't reckon they'll come home, even if you write to them again and tell them I've gone back to London, but that's fine…" Sirius clutched a hand over his eyes, digging his fingertips into his temple to will his eyes to stopper and, if he was lucky, his stomach from shrinking.

"London?" Mr. Potter started to say, but he moved over to the arm of Sirius' chair, squatting first, and then kneeling, as he wrapped his both arms around Sirius' head and shoulders and pulled him in sideways. "All right," he said soothingly. "All right."

"Don't be angry," Sirius managed to heave out against Mr. Potter's dress robes. "I hate Kreacher."

Stupid. And not what he meant to say at all.

"All right, now."

Sirius coughed, struggling to stop his tears. The handkerchief returned, all soft pinches and patting. Sirius hadn't cried like this in years; he hurt all over, the shame drained out and replaced with a new feeling he couldn't quite identify. He ached even after the wetness dried into a sticky film on his face.

"A promise of mine:" Mr. Potter finally spoke, his chin on top of Sirius' head. "I will never be angry."

TBC...


End file.
